


The Daintiness of Ear

by sithmarauder



Series: Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (and maybe a little more), An Historic Family, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Germany Loves His Dysfunctional Family, M/M, POV Outsider, Unspoken Declarations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:38:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithmarauder/pseuds/sithmarauder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Austria and Prussia play music together. Germany listens and thinks (and remembers).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Daintiness of Ear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [netherlandsway](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=netherlandsway).



> This was a ridiculously spontaneous fic I wrote in response to a post by **netherlandsway** on tumblr. They said: "Just imagine a fanart where Austria is playing the piano and Prussia is playing the flute and they are so concentrated and blended." Needless to say, I imagined it, and though I can't draw I can write, so that's what I did. So enjoy this little piece of modern-day fluff.
> 
> Also when I was pasting from my Word document I missed the last word of the fic. This has since been corrected.

 

 

 

> _“And here have I the daintiness of ear_  
>  to cheque time broke in a disorder’d string;  
>  but for the concord of my state and time  
>  had not an ear to hear my true time broke.”  
>  \- Richard II, _Richard II, Act V, Scene V;_ Shakespeare

When Germany first heard it, he thought he was dreaming—a side effect, perhaps, of working too hard and too long, burying himself in the documents that currently littered every visible surface in his office. For the past hour the soft and muffled sounds of Austria’s piano had been reaching him through the wooden door of his study, and Germany had allowed it to lull him into a more complacent state of mind, his thoughts wandering even when he tried to concentrate and make sense of Italy’s confusing margin doodles. So when he heard another sound, another addition to the music, it didn’t register—not at first. When it did, he did not think much on the origin of it. The addition wasn’t unpleasant, he thought to himself, but as he lifted his head from the papers he realised, with a small jolt of shock, just why the sound had caught his attention.

Filtering through the old house were the sounds of a piano, yes, but mixed with it now were the soft trills of a flute, a flute Germany knew all too well. He blinked, mouth falling open for a brief moment before he grunted and closed it, letting the paper in his hands rest on the desk again without even realising he had put it down. He thought, for another moment, that he was imagining the sounds, but as he continued to sit in silence and listen he realised that he was not.

Logically, rationally, he knew what it had to be. But in an equally logical and rational fashion, he told himself it couldn’t be that. Austria and Prussia could hardly be in the same room for five minutes without goading one another, Prussia trying to get a reaction out of the other nation whilst Austria did his best to either ignore him or slip back barbed remarks lined with ice. There were times when their arguments would subside, of course, times when Germany would walk by Austria’s music room to see Prussia dozing lightly on the couch, leg sprawled lazily and one hand dangling against the floor tiles. There were even times when the three of them would sit together in the media room they all shared, Prussia watching TV whilst he and Germany drank beer, Austria sitting primly and reading in the chair he’d claimed for himself.

But Germany had never heard them play together before. Not like this.

Curiosity piqued, Germany pushed away from the desk and grimaced at the mess in the room, telling himself he didn’t have time for this if he wanted to be finished his reviewing as soon as possible. He could not, however, simply leave this uninvestigated, so with a grudging sigh he left his study, stepping into the hallway and closing the door as he did so. His footsteps echoed on the beautifully tiled floor, but the music floating through the hallways seemed to almost drown them out, and it wasn’t long before he stood at the entrance to his ultimate destination.

For a moment Germany hesitated, not wishing to knock on the door lest he interrupt the music going from within, and he knew that if he did that, if he interrupted them and they remembered that he was here, he might never hear this again. So instead he gritted his teeth and sighed again, reaching out to carefully open the heavy wooden doors, slipping into the room as quietly as he could.

He needn't have bothered being quiet, for as soon as his eyes rested on the two nations (or ex-nation, in his brother’s case) he knew they wouldn’t have heard him even if he’d walked in with the two squabbling Italy brothers behind him and a couple elephants.

Music flooded the room, echoing in the large, high-ceilinged chamber, swirling around Germany like the skirts of dancers from times past. To his right the large window was open, the curtains moving slightly with the breeze that came in, and to his left was the entrance to the room, the heavy wooden doors that always reminded Germany just how old this place was, just how many years had gone by.

And far in front of him, engrossed in their music, Austria and Prussia played. Austria’s back was to Germany, his face lost to Germany’s eyes, and Prussia stood beside the piano, half his face visible to where Germany stood. Like a single entity they played in unison, and Germany had to fight the urge to clear his throat as he stared, caught in the undertow of their music and the spell it cast over him.

He didn’t always pretend to understand the relationship between Austria and his brother. They had fought each other long before he had first opened his eyes to the world, and they had continued to fight each other for his entire childhood. When he was younger he hadn’t much understood it, saddened that the only family he’d ever known was tearing itself apart, and he’d spent much of those first few years with his brother still expecting Austria to round the corner and gently chide him for spilling food on his nice shirts (and it had been gentle chiding, for Austria had always been deceptively patient with him in a way that he’d later learned was unusual, and looking at the man now, withdrawn and tired and impossibly hard to read, Germany found he sometimes missed the Austria from days past. He wondered if that patience was even still there). Even back then, however, he’d been able to understand that the history between his brother and Austria was long and deep and bitter.

Germany had missed the sounds of music, too. He’d missed walking in and listening to Austria play, and had missed learning to play himself when Austria’d had time to teach him. It wasn’t until later, when he was ill and tired and sore, that he’d found out his brother could play as well—not the piano, but a beautiful transverse flute that had soothed his younger self to sleep with ease in times past. Even now he loved hearing his brother play, when Prussia would deign to do so, and now that the three of them were living together again he often heard music from one of them filtering through the house.

Never, however, had he heard them play together like this. It didn’t sound like anything Germany had ever heard before, from either of them. Austria’s hands were skilled on the keys, coaxing notes from the large piano with a musicality Germany had never heard anyone match before, and Prussia’s flute played a heavy melody overtop of it. The piece was somewhat haunting, definitely not light-hearted, and as Germany listened there would be times where one of them sped up or slowed down and the other wordlessly changed their pace to meet the challenge. There were other parts as well, parts that sounded darker and despairing, while in other sections a bit of lightness trickled in.

It sounded like contentment, Germany thought, pulling once at the collar of his shirt. Contentment, then sorrow, and finally a sort of truce—and always, always there was a challenge.

Austria’s head was bowed towards the piano, his posture perfect, but not rigid. It was never rigid while he played, and even his brother looked somewhat relaxed, eyes half-lidded (and half-narrowed, perhaps, as he slowed his tempo to meet Austria’s—if Austria was pleased by this, Germany could not see his face to discern a reaction that wouldn’t have been there anyway) and posture less that of the perfect soldier he had always modelled himself after.

Germany didn’t know how long he stood at the back of the room, listening without speaking, when the music began to slow even more. It seemed to end almost on a questioning note, and when Prussia lowered his flute Germany saw an expression of hesitation and faint discomfort cross his brother’s face. His posture changed slowly, becoming less relaxed and more self-conscious. Austria, for his part, merely exhaled, his hands resting on the edges of the piano, just off the keys. Germany still couldn’t see his face, but he could see the way Austria’s face turned towards Prussia when his brother stepped forward, clearing his throat as if he were trying to say something.

“Little ma—Austria—“ he started before breaking off, saying nothing for a few moments, looking as if he were trying to force something out and failing rather miserably. Germany blinked, sure that he had almost never heard Prussia call Austria anything other than the various nicknames he had for him—not all of them kind. When his brother’s face coloured faintly Germany could hear a faint sigh emanate from Austria, one Germany wouldn’t have heard had the room not been completely silent.

“Fool,” Austria murmured, looking back at the piano, but rather than make Prussia angry like Germany had seen it do before, it instead made his brother relax. Prussia’s shoulders slumped, and something like a smile crossed his face, more wry than Germany had ever seen before.

“Yeah,” Prussia said, rolling his shoulders in a brief shrug before he finished moving forward, sitting carefully on the bench Austria currently occupied, his back to the other man’s shoulder. Austria turned back to him, and Germany could see his face for the first time, could see the softening lines of the other man’s mouth and the way it almost seemed to smile. Prussia rested his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward, a hand running through his hair.

“Always the fool, isn’t that right, little master?” Prussia muttered then, and Austria huffed, but it was a sound devoid of irritation. Still angled towards Prussia, he lifted a hand and placed it on the ex-nation’s shoulder, which made Prussia glance back at him. But Austria said nothing, merely letting his hand linger for a moment before he deliberately let it slide off, turning back to the piano without another sound. Moments later a soft melody began to spill from the instrument, and Prussia sucked in a breath, his eyes closing. When his brother’s shoulders began to shudder a bit, his face still buried in his hands, Germany knew it was time to withdraw.

As he did so, however, he couldn’t help but turn back to smile at them, however sadly. Germany, like his brother, had also recognised the piece Austria was playing, recognised the lilting melody alien to any piano music, and he knew what it meant to his brother to have Austria play anything written by Frederick, a man who had died before Germany himself had come into existence. The tears were ones of sorrow, yes, for Germany knew his brother had never stopped missing the man, but Germany rather thought there were tears of relief as well—relief and gratitude, and perhaps something Germany was uncomfortable naming not because he didn’t approve but because he felt like a traitor saying it before Prussia himself was ready.

Either way, it wasn’t his place, and he had lingered long enough. Carefully, doing his best not to disturb them, Germany drew the door of the music room closed, breathing a sigh of relief when he managed it without any fuss. Then, straightening his shoulders, he walked back to his study, ready to groan over the notes he had taken from the last meeting.  If the foreign melody from earlier still echoed in his head, laden with meaning and intent, well, Germany didn’t much mind. His thoughts went back to his brother and the violet-eyed nation he had built himself around for centuries, and he shook his head briefly. Prussia wouldn’t say anything before he was ready, but it seemed that, after decades and decades, Austria himself had cued in to Prussia’s rather complicated feelings. Germany stopped in his tracks at that, his mind suddenly flashing back to days of old, hearing Austria’s even voice and the way the other man’s hands had gently guided him, first with the piano and later with the sword, silently understanding and always patient.

Germany sighed, rubbing his temples, but there was the faintest of smiles upon his face. Maybe Austria no longer held a sword, maybe he was no longer an empire, and maybe he was far more withdrawn (and ill-tempered, even) than he had been in the past, but Germany had been a fool to think that Austria’s patience had ever left him completely. As for his brother, well, Germany liked to think he knew Prussia fairly well. Prussia was used to charging into situations head-first, had never had trouble confronting his enemies or being forthcoming about his thoughts or opinions, but when it came to his own feelings Germany knew that his brother had always been awkward, unsure, doing his best to bury any emotion he considered “weak” or “un-awesome.”

Still, he thought they’d get there. They’d been enemies for so long that anything other than a slow burn would be impossible. From Austria there would be no grand gestures or confessions, and he wouldn’t say a word until he knew Prussia was ready to say them himself. Until then that patience would carefully reappear, and Prussia… well, Germany thought, rubbing the back of his neck, Prussia would hopefully relax. Breathe. Allow himself to have the one thing Germany knew he’d wanted more than almost anything else, whether or not he’d have ever acknowledged it to himself. And as awkward as it was to think about (though it was not, Germany thought quietly, as awkward as one might think, not when these two nations were his only family, the military man and the aristocrat who had raised Germany alongside each other—his _familia_ since he’d known what the word meant), Germany hoped that they’d be happy.

Stepping into his study, Germany closed the door behind himself, but instead of continuing on with his reviews he instead starting to clean up the desk. He knew he’d not be getting anything more done today, not with the state his mind was in, and though he grunted with irritation at the setback he wasn’t truly all that annoyed. Instead, for the first time in centuries he allowed himself to sit back and think of the two nations he had left in the other room, and when he closed his eyes he could almost see the ghosts of years past: Prussia resting on a velvet Ottoman while Austria gently guided Germany’s hands over old ivory keys in a rare down moment and, later, Austria playing while Germany and his brother slept peacefully, a smile on Prussia’s resting face.

Germany exhaled, and as he drifted off into sleep he almost thought he could hear the sounds of an old piano playing, the notes of a flute blending with it, rising and falling in perfect harmony.

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> \- In addition to being good at beating the shit out of Austria, Frederick the Great was a talented composer and wrote a great many sonatas as well as a few symphonies, primarily for the flute.  
> \- The piece of Frederick the Great's music that Austria plays for Prussia at the end is the andante from Frederick's _Sinfonia No.1 in G major_. It being written by Frederick the Great, it was not originally written with the piano in mind, but having briefly tapped the song out on the piano myself after listening to it, I figured Austria would be more than capable of doing the same (and doing it better than I could).  
>  \- Listen to Germany thinking "lol Prussia u r so emotionally constipated" without realising he's the exact same way 75% of the time. I'm 100% convinced that romantic awkwardness is a family trait.


End file.
